Punch the Clock
by phoenix's moon
Summary: Tag to 11x3, "The Bad Seed". Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves in a bar, conversing about humanity. (The angel-demon bar scene, with not-so-anonymous characters.)


Tag to 11x3, in which Crowley (Crawly) and Aziraphale find themselves in a bar, conversing about humanity's initiatives.

0-0-0-0

 **It was less so of a slow day** at the bar and more so a fast day halted by the arrival of one angel with his nose in a book, bowling over stray waiters and customers alike as he meandered towards the bar. His satchel, unusually void of books, bounced on his side.

"You're here early," Crawly **(1)** observed as Aziraphale bumped into a barstool and cursed. He snatched the novel from Aziraphale's hands and bridged it over two empty scotch bottles and a basket of fries. "And I even drank only half of the liquor instead of all of it, as you so requested after the incident at the Ritz."

"Incident is a sore understatement," Aziraphale replied absently, nursing the puce bruise creeping over his knee. He settled into the stool and reclaimed his book, propping it open with one hand and sneaking Crawly's fries with the other. They sat there in comfortable silence. Crawly took a shot, Aziraphale ate and read, and all was well.

Well, all was well aside from The Something looming over the entire Earth, but in Crawly's mind that could go unmentioned for now, like the fact that Aziraphale had a fry stuck in his golden hair or that a ketchup stain was on the book's front cover. After the first, second, and narrowly avoided third **(2)** Apocalypses, they deserved some quality alone time without the hassle of nanny-ing the next Savior of Planet Earth.

Then the fries ran out.

Before Crawly could order another plate, Aziraphale opened his mouth. "Alarms went off in Heaven and Hell," Aziraphale oh-so- _helpfully_ provided, "louder than Lucifer on a good day, I heard."

"It's big," Crawly dismissively agreed.

Aziraphale gave him the look, the frown of the _you can do better than that_ blended with the _even Agnes knew that much_ brow furrow. "Something's changed; something's here."

And that something is your face, Crawly was sorely tempted to retort, but, at Aziraphale's glare, he kept that comment to himself. He buffed his nails against the bar counter, disinterested. "Heaven doing anything about it this time?" because they had done jack-diddly-squat before; sending down Michael didn't do much good after the Anti-Christ chose a side and the Horsemen were sealed away. Heaven just had horrid timing in general. God neglected to mention that the fruits were forbidden until Eve sunk her teeth into the first apple **(3)** , gave Noah a twenty-hour warning about the flood, spent the First Apocalypse playing poker with Lucifer and, when the game ran over by an hour, left his son hanging on the cross.

Sometimes Crawly wondered if God's neglect damaged the whole of humanity more than Crawly's temptations.

Crawly motioned for a scotch and yes, he would adore an umbrella, as Aziraphale's brows furrowed. "Since Hannah died, Heaven's been in turmoil."

"I caught word that the Rit Zien haven taken up back massages, so at least there's some bright light in the situation."

"They do give good massages."

"You never let _me_ give you a back massage."

" _You_ were always more likely to give me a back stabling."

The bartender slid a glass towards Crawly and, taking a sip, the serpent nodded. "Fair. Don't think I'd exceed at it either—there's a lot of pent up frustration here, and you'd end up as a punching bag. Always wanted to try though. There could be a black massage market down in hell."

"You would be the one to start it," Aziraphale muttered, "yet I doubt they'd be better than those in Heaven."

"And that's where our two operations will always butt heads," Crawly said cheerfully.

"Agreed."

The conversation lulled. The lovely blonde bartender brought another basket of fries was and Crawly demolished another bottle of scotch.

Just as Aziraphale opened up his book again, Crawly shifted in his seat. "You ever think about what the world would be like if we were knocked out? It would be funny with humanity left to play its own little game, with no demons to corrupt or angels to redeem, no angelic massages or demonic bars **(4)**."

"It really wouldn't be."

"But really, think about it. Decisions would be up to the little guy, no ethereal interference, power to the people and all that. We wouldn't be sitting on their shoulders. We're getting old. They're coming up with new ideas, which is usually pleasant, but they create these little gods on those tablets of theirs and choose to believe in science instead of religion. It might impact your feathery behinds more, but we demons suffer as well. Someday, we're not going to be around anymore. Maybe sooner rather than later; the alarms were nauseatingly loud."

There was something endangering the general populace of Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale agreed, but he doubted it would result in the downfall of Heaven and Hell. Yet if Crawly were to willingly bring it up in conversation, instead of just dismiss Aziraphale's offhand comments on the topic, then perhaps things were worse than they first appeared. Crawly didn't panic about many things. The Queen music, the eventuality of the dissolution of the American housing buddle, and the resilience of plants nurtured by Holy Water, but not supernatural spats. But then if even Crawly, Heaven, and Hell were frightened, so much so that fear paralyzed them from acting, then who was to fix the world?

In Aziraphale's mind, the solution was simple.

"It's up to them to act independently in our absence, of course. They've had centuries to build up their world; they can live without us."

"Only you'd have such blind faith in them. I'd give them a month until they fall into all-out nuclear war and blow themselves up."

"Someone's got to."

 _Since you don't_ , but that went unsaid.

Crawly scoffed. "So, assuming humanity hasn't run the Earth dry by next week, lunch?"

"Providing _you_ don't blow the world up, here next Thursday; nine or so?" the angel retorted, even they both knew perfectly well that neither would be on time and that Crawly was likely to burn down the place somehow. Fire had a penchant for following Crawly. Neither were sure why, but both agreed that something Crawly sat on was more likely to spontaneously combust than something he didn't.

"Ye of little faith."

Aziraphale hummed in agreement as he rummaged through his satchel and, finding nothing more than a stray receipt from the Shop and a half-eaten tin of mints, glanced at Crawly.

"Bastard," Crawly grumbled. "You always make me pay."

"You owe the world much more than I do."

"It's all in the job description, demon, fallen angel, and all. Not even you are innocent, might I remind you of the Bentley and Queen. Either ways, I collect the debts, not make due on them, and even _you_ can't argue otherwise."

"If you're certain of that," Aziraphale nodded. "'Power to the people', dear. Let them make their own decisions on what you are."

"Whom, not what," Crawly corrected in annoyance. The angel _quoted him_ , for the Devil's sake, and then had the audacity to let humanity define him. He was secure in his existence and didn't need the doubts of millions encouraging a mid-existence crisis. "I'm much more important than a _thing_." He rose from his seat and, with the flick of a finger, banished the glass bottles and dirty plates to the sink out back. Aziraphale looked at him disapprovingly.

"I'm compensating them for their troubles."

"Not paying."

"Nope," Crawly said.

Aziraphale gave the bartender an apologetic look. "I don't seem to have my wallet on me, so please add it to the tab. I do hope we'll be back soon," he said.

There was a flutter of wings and the slither of a snake, and, before the bartender could even croak out a response, Aziraphale and Crawly were both gone.

0-0-0-0

(1) Since the King of Hell, four century old upstart he was, seized the name Crowley and tarnished it beyond repair. Unless the names Crawlee or Crowlie suddenly became sociably acceptable, Crawly would have to do.

(2) Involving an angel who insisted on the general populace calling him _Godstiel_ , and whom, on more than one occasion, accidently dialed Crawly's residence instead of Crowley's.

(3) Which led to Crawly's success in tempting Adam and Eve and his subsequent demonic promotions, so he wasn't one to argue against Heaven's lengthy response time.

(4) Aziraphale could claimed the credit for the daiquiri and margarita, so Crawly claimed credit for the bar. It was part of The Agreement.


End file.
